Letting Go

It may be time to kill one of your characters. I don’t mean giving them a sudden heart attack or a misstep in front of a bus. I mean if you’re stuck, really stuck, on a scene or plot point and have been for a while, it may be that one of your characters just doesn’t belong in this book, and needs to be written out.

Maybe you’re thinking, but I love him/her. That’s what I thought a few years ago, when I wrote a beloved youngest child out of my second novel (and my protagonist’s life). Or maybe you’re thinking, Thank God. I really have no idea who this character is anyway, which is what I thought last week when I wrote my protagonist’s current husband out of my novel. Or maybe you’re thinking, Hmm. How do I know? which is what I think several times a day when I’m in the early stages of a book.

“Killing your darlings” doesn’t always mean killing beloved sentences and paragraphs, or doing away with brilliant plot twists that go off-track. Sometimes, it means letting go of a character you’ve thought about and written about and crafted for months. I have done this with every novel, and in every case it’s made the book better—tighter, more focused, richer. But how do you know if and when a character has to go?

When writing dialogue for that character feels like a chore. I don’t know about you, but for me, writing dialogue flows pretty freely. When I write dialogue I often feel as though I’m transcribing the words to a conversation I’m witnessing—only the conversation is taking place in my head. One character wouldn’t be caught dead swearing; another can barely get through three sentences without tossing in a swear word. One character talks in short, staccato rhythm; another tends to over-explain. One character interrupts often; another is fond of long silences between statements. I know when I get stuck writing dialogue, it’s because I can’t hear a character’s voice distinctly, and if I can’t do that, there’s a problem.

When your story still works even if that character isn’t in it. Look at your outline or—if you’re a pantser like me—look at wherever your plot has brought you thus far. Do all your main characters play an important role in the story? How would the story be different if you cut out that character? How would your protagonist be different if that person wasn’t in his/her life? If the answer is “not much,” try writing through a chapter or two without that character. Cutting extraneous characters forces you to focus more intensely on the characters you do have in the story, to make each one of them richly alive. The characters surrounding your protagonist are there to reveal who your protagonist is (both to the reader and to herself), to support, antagonize, love, hate, push, pull, follow, and otherwise interact with your protagonist in the same ways the important people in your life interact with you. But each and every one of them still deserves to be a fully fleshed out individual.

If you can’t feel at least some of what he/she is feeling. I’m a middle-aged woman. But I’ve written from the point of view of an 80-year-old woman, a 10-year-old boy, a 12-year-old girl, a 39-year-old woman, etc. But even if I can’t relate to a character’s age, occupation, gender, looks, or personality, I can relate to feeling grief-stricken, or anxious, or over-joyed, or terrified. I’ve never been an 80-year-old botanist and world explorer, but I created one in my second novel that’s one of the most memorable and believable characters I’ve ever written. I knew that character because I know what it’s like to feel impatient with people who don’t say what they mean, or to love someone fiercely and be furious with them at the same time. If you can’t imagine what your character is thinking and feeling in a scene, you may want to rethink your character. It doesn’t even matter if your character is human. In Lauren Groff’s novel The Monsters of Templeton, she writes about a Loch Ness-like monster that lives in a lake in upstate New York. In the final chapter, she writes from the monster’s point of view, whenever it finds someone who has drowned in the lake: “and how the monster loves them, those pretty unmoving people, takes them and strokes their hair like moss and holds their smoothness to its chest…” I like that monster. I know that monster; I’ve felt that protective urge toward vulnerable creatures, too.

Do you know all your characters? Do they all belong in your book?

Wish you could buy this author a cup of joe?

Kathleen McCleary is the author of three novels—House and Home, A Simple Thing, and Leaving Haven—and has worked as a bookseller, bartender, and barista (all great jobs for gathering material for fiction). A Simple Thing (HarperCollins 2012) was nominated for the Library of Virginia Literary Awards. She was a journalist for many years before turning to fiction, and her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Good Housekeeping, Ladies Home Journal, and USA Weekend, as well as HGTV.com, where she was a regular columnist. She taught writing as an adjunct professor at American University in Washington, D.C., and teaches creative writing to kids ages 8-18 as an instructor with Writopia Labs, a non-profit. She also offers college essay coaching (http://thenobleapp.com), because she believes that life is stressful enough and telling stories of any kind should be exciting and fun. When she's not writing or coaching writing, she looks for any excuse to get out into the woods or mountains or onto a lake. She lives in northern Virginia with her husband and two daughters and Jinx the cat.

I’ve done exactly that for one of my supporting characters in my WIP. I found that he was struggling to stand out because of his personality and mannerisms; he’s very quiet, reserved, and softspoken. There’s nothing wrong with that kind of character / person – but in this particular story, he was being drowned out by other characters he was “fighting against” for screen time. Plus, I needed to make some drastic decisions for trimming my story’s word count; and based on the issues I was having with this particular character, eliminating him completely was a logical (though heartbreaking) decision at that time.

As I was writing the second of my Schellendorf historical series, a minor character stepped suddenly into the scene. I had no plans for this wonderful woman. I meant her only to be an indicator that my protagonist was starved for company. Yet she grew in importance, and as I wrote the story, she told the protagonist her backstory in bits and pieces until she grew into a whole person. I had not intended this. I actually intended to write her out. But then she took her place in the plot of the story, and toward the end of the novel gave my protagonist his final reason to kill the antagonist. So sometimes the opposite is true. Take advantage of those darlings, and make them work for a living.

Such a great point, that the opposite is also true. I have several characters shelved away that I don’t believe I’m finished with (or they’re not finished with me). It’s fascinating how your “minor” character became so pivotal to your story. I love your line that we can take advantage of those darlings and “make them work for a living.” Thanks.

Excellent thoughts as usual Kathleen! I think I may have an advantage, writing epic fantasy and also as a dilettante. I can afford to stop and think, weigh the value of the characters, and spin out NEW plot-lines where perhaps they better belong. The reader tolerates long arcs, enjoys deeper detail than I think they do in thrillers, or even some mystery genres for example. I’m a big fan of more: after all, it’s a whole world out there. I’ve seen strong positive reader reaction to characters I thought were one-shot throwaways.

Hey, Will. Thanks for the comment. It is true that minor characters may play a larger role in some genres than in others (although even Peter Jackson cut Tom Bombadil out of the movie version of Lord of the Rings).

I did something similar, but not quite the same: I gave up three point of view characters.

In the original conception of the novel I just published, I had three main characters, and, for the purpose of giving myself space to write about these characters from the pov of someone who knew them well, I gave one significant person in each of their lives pov status. Not a lot of scenes, but enough to get in some information about the main three that I thought the story needed.

In the Great Reorganization, each of the sidekicks lost.

I realize multiple pov was hard enough – but that six was unreasonable, and we kept having these little interruptions from someone less interesting than the characters I was writing about.

But the insights? What happened to the insights?

I found other ways, bit of dialogue, interactions – for the critical bits. The others I saved – I may put a few cut scenes on my book’s site some day.

But the story’s pace was immeasurably improved not by deleting the characters, but taking away their time in the spotlight. Immeasurably.

Wow, Alicia, I’m impressed that you even attempted 6 points of view. I find it hard to do TWO. And it’s intriguing to hear that deleting those 3 POVs had such a significant effect on the story’s pacing. Thank you!

It DOES require a major change, almost a physical one, when I switch povs (I have to write sequentially for the story).

I use a varying-depth but close third pov (Orson Scott Card’s book on pov taught me how), so that each scene is as if written by you, sitting inside the character’s skull, as I say, “right behind the eyeballs.” So it is as close as first person.

I’ve seen three first-person stories interwoven (Margaret Atwood did it in Life Before Man), but I don’t like it for me.

Six was doable – but not successful, because the sidekicks didn’t have the same story weight as the three main characters, and even I was impatient to get out of their pov!

I’ve written a lot about the process on my blog (mostly to get it straight for myself); type pov into the search box if you’re curious. (liebjabberings.wordpress.com).

It requires care and determination, but I really like telling a complex story that way.

Great post, Kathleen. In my current book all my characters feel at home and I with them. But I will be closely looking at another that has been shelved away and YES, you did write brilliantly about that 80 year old woman.

Over-populating a story is a common problem in manuscripts I edit and student submissions I read. Just because a new character pops into your head doesn’t mean he belongs. I often urge them to see who NEEDS to be in the story, and to seek out ways to meld two or more characters into one. Too many characters deprives a story of its unity and focus, and repetition (of role) saps tension from the narrative.

But if a character is hard to write, I don’t think that necessarily points toward exclusion. It may be a form of writer’s block — fear of failing at getting the character right. If so, you need to find a way, however you decided to do it, to get more intimate with the character. Sometimes writing a journal or letters from that character’s POV, materials you don’t intend to put into the book, can free you up.

David– “Too many characters deprive a story of its unity and focus….” Truer words were never spoken. Unless of course the story is a “loose, baggy monster” with little or no real unity or focus, like Game of Thrones (or War and Peace), in which case, all bets are off.

I’m with David A. I cannot handle too many characters in a novel. I can hardly manage writing about extended families or crowds. Gosh, sometimes I find it hard to show that my protagonist has more than a couple of friends, so I have to bring them in one at a time, and always with a purpose. Otherwise I can only refer indirectly to other people in the protagonist’s life. But nobody lives in a vacuum, and this is the hardest part of the ‘action’ for me. So it’s not a problem of killing my darlings, but of finding some to populate his world.

This is such a valuable post, Kathleen. WIth much reluctance, I took two characters out of my over-poulated WIP. Far from mourning their loss, I gained a huge burst of energy working with my leaner cast. And I’ve got the two of them tucked away; they may find their own stories later.

I agree with David Corbett, though, that sometimes you need to dig deeper. One character has been giving me fits, but absolutely must be there.

I don’t use the term “kill off.” I prefer, ‘Sending them to a happier place.’ One of the most valuable things I learned at a writer’s conference in Dallas some 30 years ago is that, if a scene or a character doesn’t add value to the story, you must delete it; otherwise, it’ll drag down the entire structure. It doesn’t matter how beautifully worded the scene or chapter is, or how good the character comes across. Once you, as the author, understand they really don’t fit, you must do the honorable thing for the story flow and eliminate them. It’s possible, though, you can preserve them for usage in another tale; a sort of literary cryogenic status. Regardless, writers sometimes have to make painful decisions to create a palatable story.